Chapter Twenty-Nine – Kicking the Hornet’s Nest
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Kicking the Hornet’s Nest
T he following days are nerve-racking. We’re all stretched to the limit, waiting for the judge’s decision on Renner’s motion.
I throw myself into the Aranya investigation. First, because I can’t stop looking for a legal way to get him. I can’t make peace with the idea that he might walk free after almost two decades of crimes, not after everything Jo uncovered about what that fucker’s been doing to those women.
And second, because I don’t want to think about the trial at all. It’s like having an axe poised over our necks.
We re-check every single piece of the TGH communications. It’s much easier to understand the encrypted messages now that we know so much more about the operation, so we thought we’d catch something we missed the first time; something that could tie Aranya directly to the trafficking network.
But it’s useless. We’re still empty-handed.
At the garrison, every pack keeps searching for a legal breach, but just like before, nothing sticks. We keep getting blocked on technicalities. It’s fucking frustrating.
Friday morning, we’re at the DEA when my phone buzzes and Jayme’s name lights up the screen. I already know this is it; the judge must’ve made a decision.
I take a breath before answering, hands trembling. “Yeah?”
There’s a pause, just long enough to make my gut twist.
Then Jayme’s voice comes through, calm, firm, and satisfied. “He granted the motion, Kory. Full ruling just posted. We’re cleared to argue justification, and character evidence is off the table.”
I don’t speak. I can’t.
“You still there?” he asks.
I grip the phone tighter. “…I thought he’d shut it down.”
“So did I,” Jayme admits. “But this judge isn’t looking to make an example out of you. He’s listening. It won’t be a clean trial; they’ll still fight dirty, but the jury gets to hear the truth. All of it.”
My whole chest feels warmer. “Does Renner know yet?”
“He’s already filing jury strategy. Told me to give you the news myself.” He pauses. Then, quieter: “Let yourself feel it, Kory. It’s okay to hope.”
I take another deep breath. Then finally, I mutter, “Yeah.”
I call Shane and Jay into the DEA’s break room to tell them. I want us to be alone, so they can feel what I’m feeling now without worrying about someone seeing their reaction.
When I say the words, it’s like we just won something. Jay closes his eyes for a second, and Shane lets out a breathless, “No fucking way,” punching the air.
Shane’s the first to move. He grabs my shoulder hard and knocks his forehead against mine. Jay steps in next, clapping my back so hard it rattles my ribs, then grips both our necks, mine and Shane’s, and leans in, pressing his forehead against ours.
Three foreheads pressed together. Three hands locked tight on each other’s shoulders. One breath shared.
Then Shane slaps Jay’s chest and mine like we just took a hill together. “Let’s fucking go.”
We laugh, then leave to go home early, eager to tell Jo everything.
Our celebration with her is way better, and it takes half the night. When we’re finally spent, naked, sweaty, and panting in the nest, she stands up and disappears into the closet. A minute later, she comes back holding four small, fancy white boxes, the kind lined with silk.
She hands one to each of us and keeps one for herself.
“I was waiting for the right moment to give you this,” she says, opening her own.
Inside is a silver necklace with a round, flat pendant.
“I have your bite marks to show the world we’re bonded, but you guys don’t have anything.
I know is not traditional for our people to wear wedding rings like the humans do, but I wanted you to have something. ”
She’s wrong. Our entire bodies are statements of our bond with her.
Anyone who looks at us now can tell we’re mated; there’s no way an unmated pack reaches our size and bulk.
But I understand what she means, and the fact that she wants us to have another symbol of our bond makes something warm swell in my chest.
I open my box carefully, and my brothers do the same beside me. Inside are necklaces identical to hers, with a lightweight long chain and a small, flat pendant.
Then I see the engraving. In delicate cursive, it reads: Whatever happens here, we remain.
My chest clenches.
Jay and Shane are holding theirs too, eyes wide. When they look at Jo, it’s like they’re seeing her for the first time again.
Her voice deepens. “It’s from a song I love. The words said exactly what I wanted to tell you — a reminder of my promise. Whatever happens, I’ll never leave you again. Ever.”
She takes a breath. “And it’s not just because I made that promise.
It’s because I don’t want to spend a single day without you.
If the trial takes you from me, I’ll wait for you, every second.
I’ll never walk away from us. Every time I’m not with you, I miss Kory’s voice.
The way Shane hugs me so tight it’s hard to breathe.
The way Jay always pulls me into his lap, no matter where we are. ”
She smiles. “The way you all butcher vegetables when we cook, everything uneven and mismatched. How excited you get watching basketball. How you actually listen when I ramble about patients and hospital protocols, how sometimes you remember more about my cases than I do. The little conversations you have with each other. The weird way you move in sync.”
There’s a lump in my throat so thick it hurts. I swallow hard, trying to keep it down. Jay and Shane are so still, they could be carved from stone.
Jo looks at each of us, straight in the eye.
“I love you. Every single one of you. You’re kind, gentle, responsible, trustworthy, mature.
Each of you is everything I ever dreamed of in a partner.
That’s why I fell for you so hard, so fast. The scent bond might’ve pulled me to you.
But what made me love you, it was you. Not the bond. You.”
I wish I could speak. Wish I could tell her how much I love her back. How she’s the air I breathe. But I can’t; my throat won’t work.
Thankfully, Shane finds his voice and speaks for all of us. “I love you, Jo,” he says quietly. “ We love you. All of who you are.”
His eyes are wet, little tears clinging to his lashes. He leans forward and clasps the necklace around her neck. She mirrors him, fastening his around his throat. Then he presses one hand to the pendant on her chest, the other still resting on her neck, and pulls her into a kiss.
“Thank you for this,” he whispers against her mouth.
When they part, she leans towards me. She kisses me slowly, then drapes the chain around my neck. Then Jay’s.
Afterward, we curl up on the nest together, and I fall asleep with the pendant still pressed to my chest.
The next morning, we’re all groggy from lack of sleep, but happy as hell. And I feel it, deep: hope. And hope is fuel.
With the judge showing that he’s fair, and that we’ll get a real shot at the trial, I put all my focus on bringing Aranya to justice.
Over the next few days, I decide to push things to the edge of the legal line.
We start by calling the U.S. Attorney’s Office for New Jersey.
We take turns, one call a day, rotating between the three of us.
Every time, it’s the same response: he’s unavailable.
No, you can’t schedule a meeting. No, we can’t take a message.
After a full week of that bullshit, we’re done waiting. So on Thursday, we take the afternoon and drive to Jersey. No calls, no notice. We show up at the office in person, ready to plead our case face-to-face. Since we’re not here in any official capacity, we leave our badges in the Bronco.
When we step inside the building, we hit the security checkpoint. Two guards scan our IDs and check our belts. One of them waves the wand over Shane twice, then nods us toward the front desk .
Behind the glass reception window, a man sits at a terminal. He doesn’t even blink when I step up. “What’s your business today?” he asks.
“We’d like to speak with someone from the U.S. Attorney’s Office,” I say. “Preferably the U.S. Attorney himself.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No appointment. But it’s urgent. We’re from Special Ops, working with the DEA on a federal trafficking case.”
He stares for a moment, then picks up a phone and talks with someone.
We wait ten minutes. Then twenty. Finally, a woman in a dark suit comes down. She doesn’t introduce herself and stays behind the glass.
“I’ve been asked to inform you that the U.S. Attorney is unavailable,” she says. “No meetings are being granted at this time. If you have additional material to submit, it must be routed through your agency liaison or legal counsel.”
“We’ve done that,” Jay says. “Repeatedly. For weeks.”
“Then I suggest you continue through the appropriate channels,” she replies. “We cannot accept unscheduled visitors.”
We have no choice but to thank her calmly and politely. Showing up like this isn’t illegal, but we can’t afford even a hint of behavior that might be interpreted by humans as intimidation or disruption.
Despite the result, I don’t feel defeated. It was a long shot anyway. And we’ve only just begun. Since trying to speak with the U.S. Attorney in Jersey didn’t work, the next step is to aim higher: the Department of Justice.
It’s not common for agents — or any law enforcement, really — to reach out to the DOJ directly, but it isn’t illegal either. The DOJ is a public agency; anyone can call, email, or request a meeting, even civilians.
So we start calling. Same drill as before: one call a day, rotating between the three of us. We are always polite, just requesting to speak with someone from the Criminal Division or the Human Trafficking Prosecution Unit.
Every time, we’re redirected or told the line is unavailable. Sometimes we’re asked to leave a message, sometimes not. After a week, we’ve spoken to exactly zero officials and had no callbacks.